


Executive Sweet

by notaverse



Category: Yuukan Club (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-01
Updated: 2011-10-01
Packaged: 2017-10-24 05:32:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/259538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notaverse/pseuds/notaverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miroku tries to talk Seishiro out of marrying Yuri, and finds there are far more enjoyable ways to change someone's mind than beating the bad ideas out of their brain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Executive Sweet

**Author's Note:**

> **Title:** Executive Sweet  
>  **Series:** Yuukan Club  
>  **Pairing:** Seishiro/Miroku  
>  **Rating:** R  
>  **Disclaimer:** Not mine, damnit.  
>  **Author's Note:** Pardon the bad pun in the title - I blame Junno, okay? Spoilers for episode 5 of the drama.

Miroku didn't ask to get kidnapped. No one _asks_ to get kidnapped, except Yuri, and Yuri's got nothing to do with this case. Nor has anyone else, because there isn't a case. Yet. There's just Miroku, blindfolded, in the back of a moving van with shackles on his arms and legs. Smart, these kidnappers. He might be able to slip one set of restraints, but he can't do both before they'll make him regret it.

And with something cold and hard pressed against his temple, he knows he won't have much chance for regret. One pull of the trigger and BANG, the Shochikubai family's missing a son.

"What do you want?" he tries, slurring a little. One of the men had clamped a hand over his mouth when they'd ambushed him going out to his garage, and Miroku's lips feel thick and bruised.

"Shut up, kid. You'll find out soon enough."

Ah, perhaps they're not travelling much further, then. Miroku estimates it's been maybe a ten minute drive so far, at least a minute of it spent stuck in traffic. He curses himself for not being able to fend off his kidnappers, for being taken by surprise like this. School's over for the day; his dad's got a reception to infiltrate tonight and won't miss him till morning, and unless his friends try to get hold of him no one will know he's gone.

They've got more than enough to worry about, with Seishiro powertripping and playing dictator, slowly making Yuri's life a living hell of elocution lessons and ladylike diets. Seishiro's normally the one Miroku would expect to come riding to his rescue, no matter how scarce the clues, but Miroku's not at all sure he can count on his friend right now. Seishiro's only thinking about his ambition, about gaining power, reputation and riches, and with his abilities Miroku figures he won't stop until he rules the world.

That leaves Miroku to get himself out of this mess. Somehow. He takes stock of the situation best he can given the blindfold. Black van, no lettering, no chance to see the plates. Three men - one driving, two in the back with Miroku, all wearing smart black suits and sunglasses. If they're yakuza, they must be from out of town, because Miroku knows all the local hoods and most of them would kill for him if he asked it.

Most likely, he thinks, he's been kidnapped to use as leverage against the old man. His captors know where he lives, so it's not like he's some random kid they grabbed off the street. He's a _target_.

That means they probably won't hurt him unless he does something stupid. Throwing himself out of a moving vehicle while completely immobilised and blindfolded would be stupidity of the highest order. Miroku opts to wait till they've stopped. At the first opportunity he's hotwiring the van and getting the hell out of there.

The van stops eventually. Miroku can tell by sound and the sickening slosh in his stomach that they've driven down into an underground parking garage, the kind where people in movies always seem to be getting killed. It doesn't make him feel any better about his chances. One of the men picks him up, throwing him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Not the most dignified way to travel, but it beats being carried bridal-style.

"Where?" Miroku's ride asks.

"Apartment 369," one of the others says. "It's all clear. Take him up, then come back down. The boss doesn't want witnesses hanging around."

 _Witnesses._ Miroku opens his mouth to yell, hopes like crazy that there's someone in the vicinity who doesn't have it in for him, gets as far as the first syllable before the hand is back again, heavier than before. He swallows it down, struggles to breathe evenly through his nose and not panic.

They take the lift three floors up. Miroku wonders that no one else is around, but if his captors say it's all clear, maybe the rest of the building is unoccupied. Maybe their boss owns the building. Maybe it's a brand new apartment block and this is just a really aggressive pitch from an overzealous landlord looking for tenants.

Maybe, Miroku thinks, he should be working harder on the not-panicking thing.

Travelling on the floor of the van had hardly been comfortable but it seems luxurious in comparison with this bumpy ride along the corridor, every step a jolt through Miroku's body and another second closer to his fate. He can't even lift his head without having it forced back down. He's not sure he's ever felt more helpless. It's not a familiar position.

They stop; there's a knock and the breeze of an open door. Miroku's deposited none-too-gently on the carpet, nose to the ground and hands behind him. There's a low murmur, then footsteps and the rattle of a chain across the door. The kidnappers have gone, leaving Miroku alone - possibly - with their boss.

Miroku wishes he could see. It wouldn't be much of a view, from his current position, but at least he'd feel less vulnerable. It doesn't help that his captor is crouching beside him, not saying anything, just _looking_. A couple of minutes pass that way; Miroku wonders what'll happen if he speaks.

Ah, what the hell. If they've gone to all that trouble to get him there, he's probably not going to get shot just for asking one question. He pushes himself up from the floor, just enough that he's not munching carpet fibres when he opens his mouth, and says, "What do you want?"

He seals his lips in a hurry, anticipating having his head pushed down, but the blow doesn't come. Neither does an answer. Instead, hands grasp his arms to roll him over, pulling him up into a sitting position so the cuffs don't dig into his back. Familiar hands. Strong, sure, steady. Those of a surgeon or scientist, firmed with a warrior's discipline.

The hands reach for the blindfold. Miroku blinks and squints to adjust to the light. But he doesn't need to see to know who's responsible.

"You," Seishiro says, answering his question at last.

If his hands weren't cuffed behind his back Miroku would be slumping on the carpet in relief, tension draining from his body with the knowledge that his life is in no danger, even if he doesn't exactly feel safe. Seishiro obviously has some sort of plan, but Miroku can't figure out how sending armed thugs to kidnap his friends factors into it.

"Got the keys for these?" Miroku rattles the shackles on his legs.

Seishiro gives him one of those self-satisfied smirks, the kind that says he's got all the power here and he wants everyone else to know it. When he directs it at his friends, it's not usually serious, but Miroku's not at all certain Seishiro's playing around now. And if he is, if this is a game, Miroku has no idea what the rules might be.

To his surprise, Seishiro produces the keys from a shirt pocket. He's still wearing one of the suits he's acquired since entering the world of business, though he's set the jacket and tie aside. Miroku's dressed more like the teenager he is than the adult Seishiro wants to be. Black jeans, plain white T-shirt, black leather jacket, all sticking to his skin with a nervous sweat.

A quick flick of the wrist and Miroku's ankles are unbound. Seishiro drops down behind him now, reaches for the handcuffs. The instant his wrists are free Miroku draws his arms forwards to check for damage. The skin's reddened and sore but not broken, which more or less describes Miroku's general physical condition. Seishiro's still behind him; Miroku scrambles to his knees, turning so he can glare at his friend.

"I hope my men didn't hurt you." Seishiro sounds serious, though not nearly apologetic enough for Miroku's liking.

"Nothing a good explanation wouldn't cure." Which is perfectly true. There's not much for which Miroku won't forgive his friends.

Seishiro nods, rises, crosses to the couch. It's a nice apartment, well-furnished, looks comfortable. None of Seishiro's personal possessions appear to be present; Miroku speculates that Seishiro, while still living at home, is maintaining this place on the side. He can easily afford it. They've rented apartments before for stake-outs, it wouldn't be the first time.

If Seishiro's sitting on the couch, Miroku's not staying on the floor like some little kid, even if he does feel like one with their differences in attire. He slips out of his jacket, throws it over the back of a chair, and takes a seat at the opposite end.

"Please make yourself comfortable," Seishiro says.

"Nice couch." Miroku's tempted to put his boots up on the coffee table. "More comfortable than the back of a van, anyway."

Seishiro's apology is smooth. "I'm sorry about that. I assumed you would escape easily without sufficient precautions."

"Escape? You couldn't just have called and asked me to come here?"

"If I had, you would have brought the others with you. I don't need the interference."

"Interference? From your friends?"

"Until such time as you all realise that this is how things are going to be from now on, yes, at which point I will be more than happy to accept your support."

Seishiro looks like he could use some support. Late afternoon sunlight streams in from behind the couch, revealing shadows under his eyes that hadn't been there a week ago. His posture's less than ramrod-straight and he's making no effort to resist the couch's attempt to suck him into the cushions.

If not for the whole kidnapping issue, Miroku might almost feel sorry for him.

"You'd have our support if you weren't turning into a monster," Miroku says frankly. "But marrying Yuri isn't going to make either of you happy, especially not when you're trying to change her. Give it up."

Seishiro is equally frank. "I can't. Marrying into the Kenbishi family is the right thing for me, and Yuri has to learn that she can't remain a child forever. Would you rather have her marry a stranger?"

Miroku's never really thought much about Yuri getting married at all. Yuri eating a wedding feast, yes. Yuri devoting herself to anyone besides her favourite chef, no. "If you go ahead with the wedding she _will_ be marrying a stranger, because I sure don't know who you are anymore and neither does anyone else. You don't even care that you're hurting your friends, do you? Noriko's turning into a ghost and we can't do anything but watch. The old Seishiro would've done anything to make her happy. I guess he's dead and buried, huh?"

He watches Seishiro clench his jaws, watches for a spark of anger, a sign that he'll let himself be pushed over the edge. Always so tightly controlled, so smooth and efficient and spare with his emotions, but sometimes, when he's sufficiently roused, Seishiro takes that control and smashes it into the nearest wall. He's trained to kill as much as to protect, and he's on the edge now. Miroku can see it. His friend is pale, worn down by back-to-back meetings with men to whom he can show no sign of weakness, tired from the constant struggle to assert himself over his elders. Seishiro makes it seem effortless but there's a price to pay. He's neither immortal nor invulnerable, for all that he's the most capable man Miroku's ever met.

"Don't talk to me about Noriko." Seishiro's eyes close for a moment. "I don't want to hear it."

"Then what _do_ you want to hear? That we're all thrilled by your career choices and think you and Yuri are destined for each other? 'Cause nobody who knows either of you is thinking that!" Miroku sees a flash of pain in Seishiro's eyes, softens his voice accordingly. "You're not even out of high school yet. Why are you so desperate for a marriage that'll only make you both unhappy for the rest of your lives? What's wrong with waiting till you find the right person?"

"Miroku."

"What...oh."

Miroku's breath catches when Seishiro slides across the couch to rest a hand on his thigh and give him the first real smile in a long time, sad but sweet, dark eyes shining with more than greed. Perhaps he does know this game after all. They've played it before, he and Seishiro; not often, but enough to know that everybody wins if nobody tells.

"What if," Seishiro murmurs, breath warm on Miroku's skin, "I've already found the right person? And what if marriage is out of the question?"

"You can't be..."

"Oh, I can be."

The hand on Miroku's thigh moves to the nape of his neck, exerting gentle pressure to make him turn. He moves with it and finds Seishiro waiting for him, lips parting, teasing, _welcoming_. Miroku's always had a problem keeping back tears at particularly emotional moments, whether appropriate or not, and he struggles to do so now because he doesn't like salty kisses and Seishiro will make fun of him for the rest of his life if he cries through this.

"You can't be," he says again when Seishiro gives him a moment to breathe.

"Sometimes I wish I wasn't." Seishiro kisses him again, harder this time. "It would make times like this much less painful, if I could walk away afterwards without wanting to keep you with me. My father would have a heart attack if he knew."

"He'd be in good hands if he did," Miroku says, mindful of the Kikumasamune family's medical background. "Don't think my dad would even notice."

"I think he'd notice, I'm just not so sure he'd care. Not if it was what you wanted."

Miroku agrees his dad's heart is in the right place, even if his brain isn't always. But still, the heir to a prestigious hospital and the son of the police commissioner? It's an unlikely pairing, one that will do neither of their reputations any good. As partners, yes, their teamwork is commendable - two young men, smart and strong and skilled, with a love for puzzles that allows them both to test their limits.

But as lovers?

Stolen moments are all they can ever have. When they solve a case, after the celebrations with the rest of Yuukan Club are over, Miroku will climb through Seishiro's bedroom window and stay as long as he dares. When student council meetings draw to a close, Seishiro hangs back and shuts the door before Miroku can leave, for a quick kiss and a whispered "later".

Miroku's not sure how to change that. He's not even sure he's ready to change that.

"Stop thinking about it," Seishiro advises. "I rented this place for you - did you notice the number? There's a perfectly comfortable bed in the next room and I for one would like to make some use of it."

Miroku snorts and brushes him aside. "You should be so lucky. I'm not into sleeping with kidnappers." He holds out his wrists, still ringed with red.

Seishiro takes them, caresses them, strokes sore skin with light fingers; Miroku holds his breath. "They were on loan from one of my new associates. I did warn them to be careful." He releases Miroku's hands and runs one of his own over his face. "I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd come, otherwise, and I wanted to see you alone."

"Next time, try the phone." Miroku wants to get mad, wants to yell at Seishiro some more and make him feel just a little of the pain and frustration he's been inflicting on his friends ever since deciding to become the Kenbishi heir. But he can't, because Seishiro looks tired and sick of arguments and now Miroku wants to muss the neatly-styled hair and tear buttons from the starched white shirt and leave Seishiro as open and vulnerable as he felt earlier, only a great deal more relaxed.

There's not enough room for that on the couch. "I'll let you make it up to me."

The bedroom is only ten steps away. There's a jar of Miroku's favourite lollipops on the nightstand - for afterwards, presumably, as there are other familiar objects next to the jar, to be put to more immediate use.

"Optimistic," Miroku says. "What if your goons had shot me on the way here?"

"I would exact vengeance on your behalf, of course."

How reassuring. Miroku pulls off his boots, sits down on the edge of the bed and waits for Seishiro to do the same. Seishiro's a little wound up now, Miroku can tell. He's fumbling with the shirt buttons. Miroku tugs him down to the bed, offers him a helping hand. It's no faster with two of them but considerably more fun. It's a measure of Seishiro's impatience that he doesn't hang the shirt neatly in the cupboard but flings it in the corner, and the black suit pants that follow.

"You're falling behind, Miroku."

"You know I hate to lose."

Miroku strips off his T-shirt in a single motion, pulling it over his head and throwing it to the opposite corner, over near the door. Just in case he has to dress on his way out. He goes to unbutton his jeans but Seishiro beats him to it; Miroku chokes down a giggle when Seishiro tickles him with his nails. Before long they're down to Miroku's earring and the tiny pair of sunglasses around his neck, and those, Seishiro doesn't even try to remove.

They've rushed and now they're here, and Miroku's not sure where this is going, how long they've got, whether Seishiro's going to be called away for another meeting. He gives Seishiro a questioning look, which Seishiro returns with a grin.

"How would you like me to make it up to you?"

Probably no meetings, then. Miroku stretches out on the sheets, hands held out, palms up. "Come here."

Seishiro does, closing his hands over Miroku's and leaning down for a kiss. Miroku likes the way Seishiro knows instinctively where he wants to be touched, what feels good and what makes him demand more; Seishiro says he hasn't spent so many years studying human anatomy for nothing. He knows Miroku's collarbones are sensitive, that a clever tongue and nimble fingers can leave Miroku squirming against the pillows.

And they say Miroku's the one with the oral fixation, when it's Seishiro with his head between Miroku's legs, treating him like one of his own lollipops until Miroku gasps for him to wait, to slow down, because it'll all be over in seconds if he doesn't and it's Seishiro who really needs this, isn't it? He reaches for the nightstand, grabbing the first lollipop he finds - strawberry - and unwrapping it, sticking it in his mouth as he passes Seishiro the other bottle.

Having the sweet to suck on helps him relax, he's found. Seishiro preps him slowly, moving up every so often to nudge the lollipop stick aside with his tongue and taste the strawberry on Miroku's lips. Miroku holds him there, hands squeezing everywhere he can reach, fingers tangling in short black hair. The sticky sweetness takes his mind off the discomfort, touches not yet so familiar as to be mundane. He moans around the lollipop when Seishiro withdraws his fingers one final time and asks if Miroku is ready.

Seishiro himself is more than ready, whole body drawn tight with the effort of holding himself still. Miroku smirks and tosses one of the condom packets from the nightstand at him. Seishiro's so tense, he almost misses it.

"You should dispose of the lollipop," Seishiro says once he's managed to roll it on. "You might choke on it."

That's one Miroku wouldn't want to have to explain at the hospital. _Sorry, Dr. Kikumasamune, it's your son's fault I almost choked to death. How? Well, we were having sex in this apartment I think he rented just for that purpose, and..._ There's not much left anyway. He snaps off the end with a crunch and deposits the stick on the nightstand.

"Go ahead."

It helps when Seishiro makes him laugh, reminiscing about some of the scrapes Yuukan Club have been involved in over the years. Bido's one and only attempt at letting Miroku teach him some basic self-defense, for example, or the day they all thought they'd never see, when Yuri actually lost in an eating contest to some boxer they met in a restaurant. It's breathless, shaky laughter but it's genuine and it takes him through the worst of it till he's got his arms locked around Seishiro's neck, holding him still while they both adjust. Miroku can't laugh right now, doesn't have the room. Seishiro's all around him, inside and out, stealing his breath away.

Seishiro can't be comfortable, having to prop himself up on his hands in place like this, but he doesn't seem to mind. He's content to wait until Miroku releases him, which isn't long coming and is followed by a slight roll of the hips to suggest that perhaps Seishiro would like to consider moving now?

"Was that a hint?"

"Too subtle?" Miroku asks.

"Much too subtle. I think I need another clue."

"Some great detective you are." Miroku obliges anyway, pleased when Seishiro moves to meet him. They're at their best when they work together, after all.

The uncomfortable full feeling soon gives way to a far more pleasant sense of completion. Seishiro's more alive than Miroku's seen him in ages, open and honest and muttering half to himself just because he can, because Miroku's the only one who'll hear him. Miroku falls into Seishiro's rhythm, rocking beneath him, breath hitching as they pick up speed. It doesn't matter who does what to whom and how - they both need this.

Miroku can't offer himself up in Yuri's place. Seishiro can't marry him - not without throwing away his name, and with it, his family - and Miroku's not even thinking about marriage right now. He's got exams coming up, his bike needs work, there's a new laptop sitting on his desk that needs breaking in and his guitar could do with being restrung. Marriage is something to think about after he graduates, maybe.

On the other hand, he thinks Yuri probably wouldn't care to be in his place, either, sharing increasingly sloppy kisses with Seishiro, sweating into crumpled sheets as every thrust takes them closer to the edge.

"Stop thinking about it." Seishiro repeats his earlier advice, gasping. "You're becoming quiet again."

"Just being considerate to your neighbours. The apartment's not soundproof, right?"

"My neighbours are all out, Miroku. I don't like leaving anything to chance. Now, if you please..."

Seishiro has always been an excellent planner. Miroku doesn't bother to keep the volume down - if anyone's still around to hear the breathy moans, let them think whatever they want. He's past the point of caring.

But it seems the one thing Seishiro didn't plan for was unwanted phone calls. A familiar ringtone trills from the direction of his discarded pants, prompting some uncharacteristically choice language on his part and sending Miroku into giggles. The additional vibrations are enough to finish Seishiro off.

"I promise not to tell anyone you said that," Miroku says, still laughing as Seishiro carefully withdraws, "as long as you remember you're supposed to be making it up to me."

Seishiro gives him a wicked smile. "I thought I'd answer the phone first. It might be someone important."

Miroku throws the jar of lollipops in the direction of the phone, stunning it into silence - he can always fix it if it's actually broken. That kind of hint, he figures Seishiro will have no problem understanding.

He's right, of course. Seishiro takes a couple of slow, deep breaths to steady his breathing, then slides back down to take Miroku between his lips again, hands on Miroku's hips to keep him in place as best he can in spite of the squirming. It's all Miroku can do to keep still, to not thrust up into the slick wet warmth of Seishiro's mouth. Every tiny twitch, every time he jerks in response, Seishiro presses him down into the mattress and Miroku's world shrinks to the size of the bed.

There's the prickle of tears again. Miroku blinks them away, wondering when he'd started associating sex with emotion. Probably round about the time Seishiro told him he'd found the right person. Seishiro happens to look up then, meeting Miroku's eyes and holding his gaze. Miroku's not sure if it's better or worse that Seishiro knows what it means, but it's a little scary and a lot exciting and it makes him come without any further effort on Seishiro's part.

"I'm sorry," Seishiro says afterwards, when they're both sticking to the sheets and too sated to care.

"Stop it." Miroku sighs and unwraps the one lollipop he'd saved before throwing the jar. "You've been apologising for hours and every time you've said something different. I don't want to hear it anymore. Save it for the people who do."

Noriko, especially. Yuri too, and Bidou and Karen. Everyone else whom Seishiro has ridden roughshod over in his quest for power. Miroku's tired of it all. He just wants his friend back.

"Tell Yuri you've changed your mind," he says. "It'll make her day."

"And break her mother's heart."

"So we'll send Bidou in to charm her out of it. Just break off the engagement, okay? Leave the Kenbishi family to take care of their own business and come back to school."

Seishiro stretches out, limbs perfectly straight, trying to order his thoughts. Miroku sucks the lollipop in silence, giving him time. He knows what the answer's going to be.

Apparently not. "What do you think of the apartment?" Seishiro asks, apropos of absolutely nothing they've been discussing.

Miroku shrugs. "Not thrilled about how I got here but the place seems nice enough. Why?"

"Should we keep it?"

"I don't even know where it is but I guess it's always handy to have a safehouse, just in case."

"Safehouse." Seishiro brings his hand to his mouth in a gesture Miroku knows well. "I was thinking more along the lines of having somewhere to go when my family inevitably disown me for having _intimate_ ties to a man who knows all the local yakuza by name and gets job offers from both sides of the law."

Miroku catches the stress on "intimate" and smiles around the lollipop stick.

"Of course," Seishiro continues, "I'd need a roommate. Preferably someone skilled with electronics, who has his own transport and wouldn't object to taking a dog for long walks in the park across the road. Would you happen to know anyone suitable?"

"Oh yeah," Miroku thinks Yuri can stop living in fear of etiquette lessons now, because Seishiro's quite clearly not looking for a female roommate, "I think I know just the guy..."


End file.
